


our unsaid words (are breaking our hearts)

by UCLfangirl



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 23:33:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12352809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UCLfangirl/pseuds/UCLfangirl
Summary: Whoever said that love makes you brave was a fucking liar.Love can make people afraid too, especially when they are in love with their friends and a wrong word, a miscalculated action can make it all fall to pieces. This has the unfortunate consequente of love: It makes people suffer even when there's no need of that.(Well at least it makes everything more worth in the end)





	our unsaid words (are breaking our hearts)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [selenedaydreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/selenedaydreams/gifts).



It started slow, like most of those things do.

It started with Real Madrid. With a club who loves as strongly as it hates, who holds expectations that are often impossible, who accepts only the best and demands it from everyone, who is as quick to defend what is theirs as they are to criticize the same things. With a crest that is as heavy as it is beautiful. It started with the weight of legacies.

Sergio came first with a price tag hanging from his neck. Young and reckless full of promise and dreams but the number in the back of his shirt carried a heavy legacy that people doubted that the young Sevillan would be able to carry let alone honor. He came at the end of an era, in a moment where the club was changing with their big stars leaving.

Marcelo came to fill shoes that were too big for him at that time. The young Brazilian came as the promised heir to Roberto Carlos and failure was never an option for him, how could he allow himself to be anything less than spectacular when they all expected big things of him? He was the promised heir and would have to grow in that role, in that crown.

However, it started slow and they spend a surprisingly long amount of time as barely two good teammates who shared a pitch and a crest. Maybe it was the language barrier in those first moments, Marcelo couldn’t understand Spanish and Sergio knew nothing of Portuguese, or maybe because the Brazilian was passing for such drastic changes in his life and needed time to adjust. And then when those barriers were overcome it was just because they already had their own best friends, Marcelo and Cristiano bonding in Portuguese and Sergio and Iker being basically soulmates.

(Marcelo was actually scared in those first moments. What if? What if they are all wrong about him? What if he disappointed all of them? He was a scared boy in a foreign country and it was almost easy to envy Sergio who made that place his second home and was winning individual awards while he still struggled to find his place, it was easy to ignore and resent what planted doubts in his mind.)

They can’t remember when the friendship started. Maybe it was when Marcelo learned to hold simple conversations in Spanish, or when Sergio could vaguely understand some Portuguese words, or even when Iker would take all of them to team dinners to create a good locker room. It started with shared laugh, subtle touches, with friendly conversations and chemistry on the pitch.

Then it became so much more.

That they remember how happened.

Contrary to what it may seem things aren’t bad when Mourinho arrived, not on the first moments. The calm before the storm one may call it.

The signs were all there the whole time; they just ended buried by everything else. The Supercopa trophy, winning the league in 2012, the Copa del Rey, the consecutive UCL semifinals, Marcelo reaching the first signs of his potential, not his peak but enough to show the world why he was called Roberto Carlos’s heir. They believed in green days coming, in bringing a Champions League trophy to Madrid, they dreamed of great things, of happiness and glory but 2013 came to end all foolishness.

The locker room became divided in a way Marcelo still can’t believe happened, everyone was at each other's throats while Mourinho acted as if he owned the world, they are so deeply 

lost in their own internal affairs that it wasn’t a surprise that it affected their performance. But it was Iker’s treatment that truly set most of them off, Sergio who cared so much and Marcelo, more diplomatic and quiet but equally angry, it was the last straw. Losing to BVB and then to Atlético was bittersweet at best, the gutting feeling of losing once more somewhat compensated by the fact that Mourinho’s time probably would not survive another year without that particular piece of silverware.

And it didn’t. But the remains of his time clinged to the Bernabeu like poison, like a snake you know it’s there but can’t see or catch. And Iker, faithful, loyal Iker who loves Real Madrid more than any of them could dream off was the only to pay the price. Ancelotti came and with infinite gentleness fixed the issues in the dressing room, took them to European glory once more and brought home the trophy they waited 12 years to see again, but he couldn’t work his magic with the board or with the supporters, not after years of Mourinho spreading his poisoned seeds.

Marcelo watched the press conference. He watched even when his heart ached and then he cried for his friend who deserved so much more, it felt like the worst kind of betrayal. To stay in the club when Iker who dedicated his whole life and his whole heart to it was being forced out in such a way, it simple didn’t felt right. And if he felt like that, like he was betraying Iker, then what about the man who took the captain armband?

It started with Real Madrid. It started with legacies. It also started with loss.

It happens one day after training. Sergio stayed behind to talk with someone while all the others went home, Marcelo thinks nothing of it but he forgets his keys and going back to the locker room the vision that greeted him was almost enough to knock his breath away and put something unpleasant in his chest. Sergio was sitting alone, head bowed low and shoulders hunched like he wanted to disappear, in his hands he was holding the captain armband that now was his.

“You are going to be an amazing captain” Marcelo comments when the silence becomes too heavy and the image burns in his brain

“You don’t need to sweet talk me Marcelo, you are already my favorite” Sergio doesn’t react to the intrusion like he expects, he just calmly looks up and flashes him a blinding smile that completely fails to reach his eyes “Special treatment is already guaranteed, just don’t tell the others.”

“I’m serious” The younger man insists, rolling his eyes and dropping besides Sergio, their arms touching “You have been vice-captain for years, you are ready for this.”

“I don’t want this position, why don’t give it to someone who actually wants?” The Spaniard's tone is angry and a bit harsh but he just sound utterly vulnerable to Marcelo

“You have been here for longer” Marcelo points with a small smile “The perks of being an old man”

“Irrelevant, none of our older players is a canterano so I don’t think it would have that big of an impact” The other shrugs and glances at him with a pensive stare “You would be a great captain, I’m sure no one would complain.”

“They look up at you, the players and the fans. Don’t act like no one would care, Sergio, because they _would_ , you have their trust and respect so try to actually honor it. You can’t act like it means nothing, they deserve more than that.”

His words sound harsher than he expected so Marcelo tries to give his most comforting smile, Sergio however don’t seem bothered or even moved by them, he just gives a long sigh and looks at something in the distance. And then it hits Marcelo like lightning. It’s something in the way Sergio has been acting, the grief in his eyes, the hunched shoulders, the tender way he holds the armband like it’s something sacred.

“You love Iker” The words leave his mouth like a breathless whisper before he can stop himself, the weight of his realization making himself present in his voice

“Don’t we all love him?” Sergio answer with a small smile but he isn’t looking at Marcelo rather staring at a wall

Deflection. Sergio is good at this, at answering people without actually revealing what he thinks or feels but this time, well this time it doesn’t work. Because Marcelo knows, he remembers hundreds of small moments that now make even more sense, cheek kisses during training or games, subtle touches, defensive rants and fierce protectiveness. It looks so obvious now it’s ridiculous.

_Oh._

He feels his heart breaking inside his chest. Because there are feelings in his chest threatening to spill over, things he has kept for himself for years trying first to pretend they didn’t existed but now he has just been trying to gather enough courage to act on it, to admit to someone other than himself what is probably his biggest secret.

_He’s in love too._

Marcelo doesn’t ask if Iker loves him back. If they had something. If they still _have_ something. Certain things are better left in the dark after all and his heart is aching enough with half truths and imaginary stories. There’s a sour taste in his mouth, a weight in his chest and something heavy in his throat and in the back of his eyelids, it’s not envy, it’s not even jealousy, it’s just pain. Pain for the things that will not happen and for those who happened. Pain because he doesn’t want any of his friends to suffer but his brain is whispering sweet scenarios and “what if’s”. Pain because the distance brings a chance but at what cost?

They just sit in silence for what seem like hours, Sergio mourning a lost love and Marcelo berating himself for being so blind, both of them lost in their own worlds of heartbreak. Finally Sergio cleans his throat and, with a smile that would look perfect in a photo shoot but fails to reach his eyes, wave him goodbye.

Sergio leaves his armband behind.

Marcelo leaves a piece of his own heart.

Because Iker hold the love he wants for himself. Because Marcelo knows himself and knows that even if the idea sounds good, even if he wants to make a move he wouldn’t. Because Sergio is heartbroken and vulnerable and he will never ever take advantage of his teammate and friend like that.

Sergio deserves better and Marcelo doesn’t want to be simple a rebound, that would be worse than being nothing at all.

(“You love too easily” Dani tells him during the next international break as soon as they get a moment to themselves, his eyes look lighter than normal, sharp like glass staring at Marcelo’s very soul “You know you are setting yourself for a heartbreak but just keep going.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about” Marcelo laughs and throws an arm around the shorter man’s shoulder but he knows that he’s not fooling him “Barcelona is messing with your head, you really need fresh air.”

“In the same way that Ramos is messing with your heart i suppose.” Dani replies and pokes him in the chest with a small smile, but his tone is serious when he continues “I’m worried Marcelo and I’m not the only one. Do you think we don’t realize what is happening? Filipe and i were just talking about it the other day, Thiago and David both called to ask about you an even air head Neymar knows something’s not right. That’s how worrying it is for us.”

“Is it so obvious?” Marcelo asks and forces his voice to sound steady

“You look at him like he’s the sun, like nothing will ever matter this much. You have been doing it since Lisboa and everyone who knows you as much as we do can see it. He would see it too, but he’s too busy mourning his goalkeeper” There’s no pity in Dani’s voice, just worry and a bit of exasperation and he pulls Marcelo so he can look him in the eyes again “What are you doing Marcelo?”

“I don’t know” The younger man admits with a choked voice because he will always trust him, eccentric loyal Dani who always reminders him of home even when they are in Spain and Marcelo wears white and he is clad in blaugrana “I don’t fucking know”

“Of course you don’t” There’s fondness in the other's voice and he puts his hands in Marcelo’s shoulder before asking “And that’s okay, but Marcelo I need you to answer something for me: Is Ramos worth it? Is he worth this pain, is he worth the heartbreak you will suffer if he doesn’t love you back? You can’t give your heart to someone who will never look at it twice, you don't deserves this type of sorrow. So just answer this, is he worth of your love?”

“ _Yes_ ”

Dani sighs deeply and hugs Marcelo like one would hug a child. Marcelo let him and clings to Dani like a drowning man would, he melts in the hug and in the comfort because he can handle pressure, can control a pitch, but he can’t control his own heart.)

It starts with Real Madrid. It starts with legacies. It starts with pain.

Every time Marcelo comes back from international break his smile is less brilliant and carefree, he tries to hide it but those who know him as much as Sergio and Cris do could see behind the mask easily. It was on the details, on the way he would clench his fists when someone mentioned his country, the strained quick smiles, the fierce hugs with all the other Brazilian players in Spain as if they all shared some heavy burden and needed the shared comfort, but mostly on the sadness that always shone when he thought no one was looking.

And it broke Sergio’s heart in ways he can’t truly understand, it made him feel utterly helpless. He can’t help Marcelo with his national team problems, can’t even understand what he’s feeling and what he needs to hear to feel like his usual cheerful self again. Seeing the usually sunny Brazilian looking sadder and sadder and not knowing what to do was for long Sergio’s personal hell.

It happens in such a similar way that the coincidence would make Marcelo laugh had he known about it.

One day after training Marcelo stays behind after everyone else went home so he could look at a light knock he took during training, but Sergio having forgotten his cell phone goes back to the locker room and for some reason it doesn’t surprise him in the slightest to find Marcelo sitting in one of the benches with hunched shoulders and holding his phone like that was the only thing keeping him in earth.

Sergio sighs with a heavy heart and sits next to his friend gently taking the phone from his hands and glancing to see what’s written in there. The words of the online Brazilian journal are completely foreign to him of course but the image they used truly speaks for itself. In one of the corners there’s Neymar hiding his face in his hands, someone Sergio’s doesn’t recognize kneeled in the grass with his head hanging low, players clad in yellow looking defeated and close to tears while others cheer in the background.

“Brazil never stayed out of a World Cup before” Marcelo breaks the silence, his voice fragile and full of emotion, an admission of guilt and pain

“They are angry?” Sergio asks and remember, remember a fuck up of a world cup, harsh article in every journal, angry comments in the internet, the disappointment in his friends’ eyes

“Anger would be easy to deal with. They are disappointed. They are sad. They are hurt.” He hunches his shoulder even more like the weight of the whole world is resting on them “They are watching of the front row as we crash and burn like there’s no tomorrow, what a gold medal is worth when we fuck up in Copa America like that? We couldn’t go pass the fucking group stage. And now we are so fucking terrible in the qualifiers that we aren’t even getting a place in the play offs. How can we look at them Sergio? What we can say?”

It breaks his heart in ways he didn’t know are possible. Brazil has a legacy, they have a history and the world expects big things of them, they expect victories and glory, domination and, simple put, power, slips aren’t allowed, mistakes aren’t accepted. It’s the price their players pay for the five stars they carry over their crest. It’s the weight they have to carry. It’s the reason Marcelo is looking devastated and so utterly crushed, he carry responsibilities that no one outside his national teammates can understand and those responsibilities are charging their price.

_It’s not easy to stay at the top of the world._

And that, that simple realization makes something heavy crash down Sergio’s head. Something that knocks his breath away and makes him want to scream and cry or maybe just run away from Marcelo in hopes it will make the feelings buried in his chest go away. He’s been lying to himself about this so for long he almost managed to foul himself into believing into a strict friendship based relationship, but this? The heaviness in his posture? The crack in his voice?

The pain they bring is too familiar. They bring in his heart the same impulses to protect and defend that he felt years ago for Iker and who still threat to emerge once in awhile when he’s feeling particularly nostalgic. He loved Iker, God know how much he did but at some point he can’t even pinpoint Marcelo began to win space in his mind and heart, slowly but surely his affections went from a man that never looked at him twice to one who will never be interested.

Feeling more helpless than ever Sergio did what he wished he had done with Iker years ago, then he lacked the courage and just watched and ached from afar, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He did the only thing he can, said the only thing he can prove and believes with total faith.

“I believe in you” Sergio murmurs bringing his arms around Marcelo in a crushing hug

The Brazilian allowed him turning around so he could rest his head in Sergio’s shoulder, his whole frame slight shaking under the pain that only the most profound love and devotion can bring in a person. The Spaniard planted a caste kiss on unruly dark hair doing his best to be a smoothing presence.

Sergio closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy those moments because they are the only one he will ever have. Marcelo doesn’t need him shoving his affections down his throat, he doesn’t deserve to have to worry about anything else and Sergio will be dammed if he will allow himself to burden someone he loves so deeply in such a delicate moment of his life. He will not make himself another weight the Brazilian needs to worry about.

Marcelo deserves so much more than that.

(Months later, changes later, Marcelo comes back from international duty and for what feels the first time in forever there is no heaviness in his shoulder, no sadness in his eyes and when he greets his teammates his voice is filled with pure relief and pride when he announces the good news:

“Brazil is at the top of the group in the qualifiers!”

He smiles then, brighter than the fucking sun, and Sergio just stares full of relief and breathless wonder. He falls, hard and regretless for a man who loves too deeply, who cares so much, and who carries the warm of sun in his whole being. Sergio looks at Marcelo like he's the sun and not for the first time is left breathless by his smile.

_God he’s so beautiful_.)

It starts with Sevilla. With a fuck up of a game. With a penalty. With the duty of a captain. With the weight of an armband.

Marcelo is convinced it became some sort of running gag of the universe, to have all of their important moments born of negative feelings they would rather choose to forget, just for once he would like a memory to be forged in laughter, in happy times, but luck is hardly on his side in this aspect.

Well they always say that the rainbows appear after the storms anyway.

The Brazilian is so used to play with Cristiano that is almost weird to step in the pitch without the Portuguese player at his side, it feels a bit empty when he’s not there to receive his passes and as ridiculous as it sounds Marcelo feels more confident when Cris is there with them. And he is especially missed in situations like this, when they are losing and the referee just called a penalty over Casemiro, with Cristiano there is little doubt that the chance will be converted but now everything feel a bit uncertain.

He half expects to see Karim or even young talented Marco stepping up to take the responsibility, even if he truly should know better, and so his heart stops for a moment when he sees his French teammate passing the ball to Sergio. And even if he hasn’t seen it the reaction of the Sevilla fans would have told him everything, indignant shouts erupted even worse than before. Of course, if Cris is not there then it should be the Captain responsibility but Marcelo can’t help the sick feeling spreading inside him.

The penalty is converted. Another goal goes in. They tie the game. They keep their unbeaten campaign. Zizou smiles at them with proud eyes. In the dressing room someone remembers them to be proud for not giving up. Someone makes a joke about how Cris would have killed them if they had lost. They smile and they laugh and the draw taste a bit like victory, a bit like dream.

But Marcelo can’t forget the sound of the stadium, can’t forget the whistling and the insults, the rude gestures. Can’t forget a celebration and angry eyes trying to hide the sadness. Marcelo is in love and people in love have the annoying tendency to care too much, to see things when maybe there isn’t anything, to look at signs and even if he can’t gather the nerve to make a move, to risk ruin their friendship for nothing (or maybe for everything) he can’t lie about the feelings in his chest that never go away.

Marcelo cares too much and loves too deeply, just like Dani and Thiago said countless times.

And that is why he finds himself restless during the travel back to Madrid, glancing at his captain over and over again and being either ignored or not seem every single one. For what seemed the first time in forever Sergio choose to sit alone in the plane, earbuds firmly in place and eyes closed even if he didn’t seemed to be sleeping, Cris caught Marcelo looking and raised his perfectly shaped eyebrows to his seatmate in a silently question but the Brazilian just shrugged and gave a small smile in reply. The Portuguese gave him a pensive look but remained in silence, something to which Marcelo will be forever grateful.

Admitting his worry may as well be admitting his feelings and that just won’t do. If they are out in the open it will mean he will have to face the idea of rejection and even if he can take that, he can’t take the end of their friendship.

_Whoever said that love makes you brave was a fucking liar._

It’s late when they get back to Madrid and Marcelo wants nothing more than get into his car so he can drive home and sleep, he just want to forget this day before he ends up doing something stupid that he will regret. Marcelo is the level headed one, in a team full of big egos and explosive temperaments someone needs to be the trustworthy pilar and with Iker gone the Brazilian took that place for himself, he cannot allow himself to falther.

“Stop being a idiot.” Cristiano’s voice and the portuguese words came out of nowhere scaring him

“What?” Marcelo turned to his friend with a questioning look, sticking with his mother tongue and frozen in the movement of getting into his car

“Both of you are such blind fools i’m truly amazed you are able to recognize your own feelings.” Cristiano replied with an almost humorous tone “Please Marcelo you and Sergio aren’t nearly as subtle as you think, the whole dressing room cannot simply ignore the heart eyes you give each other all the time.”

“I don’t…” He started but the Portuguese cut him with an impatient gesture

“Marcelo the only person who doesn’t know you are in love with Sergio is the man itself, and the only person who doesn’t know Sergio is in love with you is literally _you_ ” There was no hiding the exasperation in his voice there “We all agreed to not say or do anything and respect your private life, but enough is enough. It’s been painful to watch you two miss each other time and time again. We… _I_ want my friends to be happy and this situation? This pointless pinning? Is only making both of you sad and i got enough of this already.”

The Brazilian just stared at his best friend, mouth gaping and head spinning half stuck in the first part of the confession. _The only person who doesn’t know Sergio is in love with you is literally you_. But that’s… That’s never occurred to him before, the fact that maybe his feelings are returned. Marcelo got so stuck in the idea that Sergio was in love with Iker that it never occurred to him that feelings can change, that maybe there was never a relationship there in the first place.

It sounds ridiculous now and for the way Cris is looking at him he thinks the same too. The Portuguese’s face is almost enough to make Marcelo fall in a hysterical laugher, Cris does everything with crushing intensity and this is no exception he looks as focused as he does before taking a penalty and is flattering to know that his friends put him in such a high place.

“What are you going to do?” Cristiano asks with all seriousness when it becomes clear that the Brazilian wouldn't say anything

“What do you think i should do?”

“I can’t answer that Marcelo, i have my opinions but it’s your life, it’s you who should decide what’s better, what you make you happier. But whatever you choose i will be here for you”

Marcelo hugged him. Of course he did, Cristiano Ronaldo is one of a kind and having him as a friend is one of the many blessings that Madrid gave him. The Portuguese returned the gesture and after a few seconds of contemplation Marcelo sighed and gathering all his courage he decided.

“I will stop being afraid, if he says no then we will just have to work it out. I’m tired of this, i’m not this person and i wouldn’t be any longer”

“Good for you” Cris smiled and released him with a final pat in the head “Go get him tiger!”

“ _Don’t_ ” The Brazilian warmed suppressing a smile of his own

Cristiano gave him space but waited until he was in his car to actually move, all the while with a ridiculous proud smile on his face like the sappy best friend Marcelo knows and loves. The warm feeling in his chest however only lasted until he left the parking lot and reached the streets of Madrid.

The drive to Sergio’s house was a blank, he focused in the road and in the feeling of his hands in the steering wheel until everything else faded even the feelings in his chest and the annoying voice in his head who he let dictate his actions for too damn long. He only allowed himself to stop and properly breath after knocking in the door thrice for good measure.

For some God forsaken reason in those instant between knocking and the moment Sergio opened the door Marcelo felt nothing but utter calm, he knows what he wants, he is ready to take a negative answer and ready to work around the issue like a grown man and don’t let everything get ruined for lack of communication. There’s something like anxiety breeding inside his chest but he’s not allowing it to take control, he’s came too fucking far to chicken out even if there’s still time.

Marcelo is not a coward and he is not allowing himself to be one now.

“Hey, i think we need to talk” He tried to smile but he’s pretty sure it just end up looking strained and awkward

“Sure? Come in” Sergio gave him a equally strained smile and when Marcelo dropped in his couch his eyes immediately went to the almost empty wine bottle in the table, following his gaze Sergio gave a shrug “Want a bit?”

“No, i don’t want to be drunk for this” Marcelo shook his head and as a afterthought he added “Are you drunk?”

“Would it change anything if i am?” But seeing Marcelo opening his mouth with a affronted look the Spaniard completed “No, no, i’m not exactly sober but go ahead”

“Sergio i’m serious if you are drunk then we are going to leave this for later” The Brazilian made sure to lock their eyes, he is not about to potentially take advantage of his drunkenness, he waited until now he can wait for one more night

“It’s okay Marcelo” Sergio laughed a little, but there was something humorless in it “It’s not even a strong wine, getting drunk is not going to help. I promise you i’m in full control of my actions and capable of making my decisions as usual”

“Not sure if that last one is a good thing” He teased trying to relax his shoulders, choosing to ignore the negative connotation “Have you looked at some of your decisions lately?”

“If i had a pillow close i would throw it in your face” Sergio made a show of looking around and Marcelo gave him a grin hugging one of the said pillows

“Of course you would” There’s warm in his chest and it’s ridiculous, there’s nothing domestic or even couple-like on what they are doing but Marcelo still feels as if this is a good sign, maybe he’s just reading too much in the situation “After all you are a very mature human being and truly an example to us all.”

“Love you too babe” Sergio mocked and his smile looked truly genuine but the words send a pang to Marcelo’s heart, like the Spaniard had just kicked him right into the chest and this must have showed in his face because the laugh disappeared from Sergio’s face “Marcelo?”

“We need to talk” He forced the words out parroting his early statement “We just really need to talk and you have to be sincere with me, swear it to me you are going to tell me the truth.”’

Marcelo doesn’t want pity. He doesn’t want to be let down gently, he doesn’t want false hope. He wants the truth, he wants to take this off from his chest, he hopes of course, he is gripping in the words Cristiano said early and putting half his faith into it, but he is just fucking tired of everything.

Love shouldn’t be a burden. Shouldn’t be born of pity or a sense of duty.

But maybe he should have found a better way to start this conversation. Because all the joy he had seen in Sergio’s face drained in a matter of seconds, he just looked as stone faced as he did in the plane and that set alarm bells in his head, maybe he should have waited a day, maybe he should have done something other than barge into his home with nothing more than a half assed idea of what he wants.

“Okay” He almost didn’t heard the Spaniard, his voice softer than Marcelo ever heard “I swear i’m telling you the truth but you have to do the same”

“Fair enough” He’s sure there were hundred of things he could have said then, numberless ways he could have entered this topic but what left his lips was probably the worst beginning but at the same time the most important “Do you love me?”

Sergio froze at that, his hands closing in fists and mouth hanging open like Marcelo had just accused him of murder or something worse. But Marcelo refused to break the visual contact even when his heart was racing and he’s pretty sure he can hear the blood rushing in his head, hyper aware of the sweat in his hands.

_Please say yes._

_Please love me back._

_Please don’t let Cris be wrong._

_Please don’t let this ruin what he have._

“Why… Why are you asking?”

“That’s not a answer”

_Just say yes or no just fucking say it_

“Neither is yours. You can’t just…” The taller man sucks a breath and gets up pacing around his living room and refusing to look at Marcelo still sitting in his couch “You can’t just ask this out of nowhere. I didn’t… Did i do something to give you this impression?”

“No” Marcelo answer and gets up too but his feet refuse to move and his brain can’t decide if this reaction is a good or bad thing, the rest of his sentence scapes in an almost pained tone “No you didn’t do anything like that, i had a… talk with Cris and he made me realize something. So can you please just give me a answer?”

“What if i say yes? What if i say i have loved you for a long time?” Sergio stopped moving as abruptly as he started looking at Marcelo and his eyes showed so much emotion that it left him breathless

Marcelo can’t pin point exactly what he wants to do, if it’s to laugh, cry, scream or kiss Sergio, maybe all of them, he just knows that his heart is bursting and there’s so much hope in him that the possibility of rejection could make him literally crumble. Sergio is still looking at him, looking as desperate as Marcelo feels and when the Brazilian opens his mouth he can see him physically bracing himself for the answer.

“Then i would be forced to say that i have been in love with you for years”

The silence that follows his confession is heavy and both of  
them refuse to move, they just stare at each other frozen trying to assimilate the fact that they spend all that time pinning without a good reason. It’s Sergio who breaks the silence and Marcelo let go of the breath he unconsciously was holding.

“God we are such idiots” Sergio laughs and shakes his head while Marcelo stares at him, hopeful and fearful at the same time, brain screaming to take a step back and revalue but body moving closer and closer despairing for a touch that may never come

Sergio looks at him with something utterly soft and simple like that all doubts are washed away, Marcelo smiles and laugh breathless over their own blindness too. Cristiano was right, they are truly two idiots of the biggest scale.

Later they wouldn’t remember who made the first move, who started the kiss and they wouldn’t give a single fuck about that.

They will remember the way they just crashed their lips together hungrily like their lives depended on it, how their bodies fit against each other with Marcelo grabbing Sergio’s hair almost roughly, how Marcelo’s skin felt hot under the Spaniard's fingertips, how their teeth clashed like they are teenagers. Marcelo will remember the faint taste of the wine Sergio drank, the way his lips are dry against his own, how his hair felt in his fingers. Sergio will remember the smell of Marcelo’s cologne, how much stronger it felt in such a close proximity, the softness of his lips and the possessiveness in his hands.

They will remember everything that matters.

“Is this good?” Marcelo asks breathless when they finally  
break apart but makes sure to stay close enough to physically feel the way Sergio’s chest is rising in sharp breaths

“I don’t know, I think we will need more practice” Sergio answer with a cheeky smile, his hand tracing meaningless forms in Marcelo’s neck giving him shivers “What about you?”

“I can work with that yeah” He replies with a soft laugh, something warm in his chest

They kiss again, softer and more playful than the first time. Bodies so close they may as well want to become a single person, Sergio’s hand in Marcelo’s neck and waist while the Brazilian keeps his in the Spaniard hair making a bigger mess of it. Soft and lovely and full of promises and unsaid words, an end to pointless years of pinning and denial.

It starts with Real Madrid. It starts with legacies. With loss and with pain.

But it doesn’t end with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> This is... not exactly what i had planned to write tbh, life got in the way and i had to change all my plans, but i hope you can find at least a bit of enjoyment in this. Your prompts are all lovely but something about capis in love stuck with me even if i had never looked at them like this before, thanks for giving me a new ship!


End file.
